


Back To It

by veronamay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comment Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Season/Series 03-04 Hiatus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-15
Updated: 2008-09-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:31:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1190346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For a prompt by arabella_hope: Post-Hell: Dean falls asleep in the car and when he wakes up, SAM'S NOT THERE. Even though he's just stopped for gas and coffee, Dean freaks.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Back To It

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt by arabella_hope: Post-Hell: Dean falls asleep in the car and when he wakes up, SAM'S NOT THERE. Even though he's just stopped for gas and coffee, Dean freaks.

It's their first day back on the road, and Sam's been driving since sunup. He squints and rubs his aching eyes, relief filling him at the sight of a gas station a mile or so down the road. He glances over at Dean, already speaking.

"Hey, I'm gonna--"

And stops, because Dean is _sleeping_.

It's been almost a week since he got Dean back. Five nights ago he stood in front of the Devil's Gate and forced Lilith to her knees, crying with the effort and the horror of making a little girl do his bidding (she wasn't sweet and innocent, no, she was pure evil in a white lace dress, and he knew that, but still). He'd made her scream out for Dean, joining his voice to hers as they reached in and dragged Dean bodily out of hell.

It wasn't pretty. It wasn't quick. It's left scars on his brother that Sam doesn't think will ever fade. And Dean has barely closed his eyes for more than five minutes at a time since.

Sam knows, because he's not doing much better. Every time he starts to drift off he jerks back into consciousness, checking to see that Dean's still there, lying rigid in the bed next to him, twitching and restless, unwilling to be touched. Once, his second night back, he woke up to find Dean pacing the length of the room and back, eight precise steps in an unbroken rhythm that sent Sam back to sleep despite himself. Dean was still pacing when he woke up. Sometimes Sam thinks it might be better if they were to handcuff themselves together until it really sinks in, that Dean's there and he's safe and there's nothing to fear, but the last thing he wants is for Dean to feel trapped. He can deal with a little lost sleep until they get through this. And they will get through this. He won't accept anything less.

Dean, though--Dean was ragged around the edges to start with, but after five days with no sleep he looked like a ghost of himself. He was pale and shaky, his eyes sunk deep with fatigue, and Sam was seriously considering spiking his beer with a sleeping pill. But now it looks like he won't have to. Dean is curled up in the corner of the passenger seat, one arm jammed against the window and his head pillowed awkwardly against it. His mouth is slightly open, soft breaths puffing out soundlessly beneath the rumble of the Impala's engine. The afternoon sun lies gently on his death-white skin, lending a touch of colour and warmth to cheeks and lips, glinting on eyelashes and eyebrows and hair. Sam pulls in beside the pumps on autopilot, gazing at his brother with his heart in his throat.

He should've guessed Dean would be more relaxed in the car than in a strange hotel room. It figured. The Impala was his home, after all.

Sam allows himself one more long look, wanting to reach out and touch the gold tint on his brother's skin, but restrains himself before he wakes Dean up. He slides out of the car as quietly as he can, leaving the driver's door ajar rather than closing it. He stares at Dean through the rear window as he fills the tank, gorging himself on the image of Dean finally at rest. It's a wrench to make himself go inside to pay for the gas and get coffee, even though he can see Dean perfectly well through the store window.

It takes three impatient throat-clearings for Sam to realise the grizzled guy behind the counter is waiting for his money. Sam gives him an apologetic grin and digs through his wallet, pulling out a fifty and telling him to keep the change. He gathers up his coffee and Dean's Twizzlers (Dean's not really eating much yet, but Sam keeps bringing him things hoping to tempt his appetite) and heads back to the car.

Only ... he can't see Dean. The passenger seat is empty.

Sam drops everything and starts to run.

The fifteen yards between the store and the car pass in what feels like years, but is in reality only about three seconds. Sam's already reaching for the Colt in his waistband when he sees something in the back seat, something he recognises enough to slow down before he reaches the car. He eases the driver's door open and peers inside, looking over the bench seat into the back.

Dean is crouched behind the driver's seat, trying to fold himself into the small space that hasn't fit him since he was twelve. His shoulders are hunched, arms crossed tight around his torso and his head is cradled on his raised knee. The other is stretched awkwardly along the back seat, muscles straining with the tension of holding it there; when Sam looks closer, however, he sees that the same fine trembling is running through Dean's whole body.

"Hey," he says, barely more than a whisper. "You okay back there?"

Stupid question, _stupid_ , but Dean just nods and hugs himself tighter.

"Okay." Sam hovers for a second, wanting to touch, unsure what to do. "Should I--you want a minute alone?"

"No!" Dean's head shoots up, eyes almost wild in his too-pale face. He zeroes in on Sam with disconcerting focus. "Don't go anywhere."

That's all he says, but Sam gets it. He was inside paying for gas, and Dean woke up because they weren't moving. When Dean couldn't see him ... well.

"Okay," he says again, shifting around to sit sideways in the driver's seat, his legs on the ground outside. "We'll just sit here for a bit. Not going anywhere until you say so."

"Damn straight," Dean mutters, trying for bravado and failing miserably. Sam cracks a grin anyway, too happy to see his brother trying to care that it doesn't sound right yet. He'll get there. They have time.

They sit there a while longer, until Dean's trembling eases and he manages to untangle himself enough to get the back door open and step outside. Sam aches to help him but doesn't dare; the few times he's touched Dean so far, it hasn't gone well. That's something else they'll have to ease back into. He hopes they will; the need to have his hands on Dean is constant, and he's not sure how much longer he can stand it without breaking down. In the meantime all he can do is be there: be present and visible and anything else Dean needs him to be.

Next time, he'll wake Dean up when he goes to pay for gas.

"C'mon," Dean says at last, shaking out his arms and rolling his shoulders. "It's getting dark. We gotta find a place to crash."

He runs his hand briefly through Sam's hair as he walks by, circling the hood of the car to slide back into the passenger seat. Sam is rocked by the contact, his entire body stilling as he absorbs it, and it takes a conscious effort to slow his breathing and unlock his muscles enough to shift his legs back inside the car.

"I'm good to drive a while longer," he says, stretching out his arms over the steering wheel, ignoring the ache in his lower back. "Thought I might try to make Montana before we stop. That sound okay to you?"

Dean's already making himself comfortable again, pulling one of Sam's old hoodies from the back seat and bunching it up to use as a pillow. He gives Sam a quick half-smile, eyes heavy with impending sleep.

"Okey-dokey," he sighs, folding his arms, tension all but gone. Sam turns toward his window to hide his stupid, sappy grin and puts the key in the ignition.

"Okey-dokey," he repeats, and pulls back onto the highway.

END


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